New York
by GloriaNewt
Summary: A songfic based upon the song "New York" by Paloma Faith. Never cross a witch, for they will use any means to get even…


**Authors Note: I seem to have caught the songfic bug recently! This little fic is based upon the song "New York" by Paloma Faith, an idea that came about from a late night conversation with the wonderful Princess Sammi, it may not be quite what you expect, but I would be interested to know what you think- reviews always welcome!**

**The days were long and the nights so cold**

**The pages turn and the tale unfolds**

**He left me for another lady**

It had all seemed so perfect. The whirlwind romance that had unfolded on the half-term trip that had led to the wonderful Serge Dubois walking into her life, a kindred spirit who had made her laugh and smile far more than she had in recent memory, a generous, adventurous type with whom she had quickly bonded over countless conversations by the fireside that had stretched long into the dusky evenings, the other pupils retreating to bed in their witch-hat tents and leaving the love-struck PE teacher to curl up by the dying embers of the fire, Serge placing a protective arm around her slender shoulders to shield her from the biting cold of the northern hemisphere, a wonderfully natural rapport building between them as they sat beneath the stars, green eyes meeting with dark, chocolaty eyes in an unspoken conversation of shared empathy and understanding. And then that perfect moment when he had gently leaned in and placed a soft kiss upon her slightly parted lips, his muscular fingers delicately caressing her tanned cheek as he whispered quietly into her ear, the magical moment when he had told her that he loved her.

And then it had all fallen apart, the perfect act of revenge executed with stylish ease by that impossible creature.

**She stood so tall and she never slept**

**The was not one moment he could regret**

**He left me for another lady**

She had stared in disbelief at the sight of the two of them together by the lakeside, Serge with eyes for nobody but that intolerable woman, a fawning look of undivided adoration dancing in his dark eyes as he shuffled closer to the figure clad from head to toe in black, her ram-rod straight posture completely inflexible to the subtle advances made by the love-struck Rocky Mountain Ranger as he passed her countless cups of tea, compliments and adorations falling from between his velvety lips in an unbaiting stream of tributes and praises as he gazed dotingly back at the mighty witch as if she were the only object in the world, the new centre of his universe, the unopposed vision of physical perfection whose gentle smile had replaced the sun as the source of light in the darkness of his existence, the realisation of his love bringing a startling clarity to his previously blinded senses as he lavished attention upon the softly smiling form of Constance Hardbroom.

An evil glint of satisfied pleasure was twinkling dangerously in her hazel eyes as she raised her china teacup in a mocking toast over Serge's shoulder to the aghast blonde, celebrating the successful implementation of her spiteful plot to publically humiliate the woman whose malicious tongue had left many deep gashes in her own pride following their bitter spat the evening before. They had had many arguments before, their clashes infamous within the grey stone walls of Cackle's Academy for their unyielding fervour, an eternal clash of wills between two determined women, the zeal for oratory success never daring to leave the psyche of the warring females, each determined that they would not succeed concede to the other, but this time Imogen had gone too far. And now she had got what she deserved.

**He took my hand one day and told me**

**He was leaving**

**Me disbelieving**

**And I I I I I I I I**

**Had to let him go**

Imogen had walked purposefully over to the unforeseen couple, trying to control her ragged breathing, choking back angry tears of outraged disbelief as she arranged a civil smile upon her face, determined not to let Constance see how badly she had been wounded by the shock of seeing the witch ensnaring her newly declared boyfriend.

"Good morning, Auntie" she snarled, the malice in her voice completely missed by the besotted Serge as Imogen glared at the woman whom it had been hurriedly agreed would masquerade as her Maiden Aunt for the duration of the stay at the remote Murdoch McPhee's Adventure Centre.

"Imogen," acknowledged Constance with a slight inclination of her graceful head "Is there anything we can do for you?" Although her tones were light and unassuming, there was a vicious undercurrent of possessive joy in her low tones in watching the jealous rage building within the younger woman, it was almost like baiting a particularly impatient dog by dangling a desired toy over its nose, tempting it with the desired object by placing it just out of reach until the creature went berserk with frustration, it was only a matter of waiting to see Imogen's calm façade snap as Constance tested her limits of self-control to the limit.

"I would like," began Imogen through clenched teeth, "to speak to my **boyfriend**, if he's not too busy?" There was no room for negotiation in that statement; refusal was not an option unless the person who dared to decline had developed a sudden masochistic urge to be punched in the face.

Constance leant sideways and gently tapped the fixated scout leader upon the shoulder, wordlessly extending her long, willowy fingers to point at the awaiting Imogen.

"I think," she whispered to him gently, "you'd better speak to her…"

The look of hurt and disappointment was evident in Serge's eyes as he complied with the wishes of the ebony haired goddess, unable to resist obeying her slightest command, he climbed reluctantly to his feet, brushing the dried leaves off his yellow fleece as he raised a questioning eyebrow to the awaiting woman.

"Can I help?" he inquired lightly in his Canadian tones, a faintly puzzled hew appearing to his face.

Imogen extended a trembling hand to him, "We need to talk. Now." She hissed, trying not to vent her anger and frustration upon the man with whom she had begun to fall in love with, practically dragging the confused man along in her infuriated wake.

"Serge, what on earth!" she inquired furiously, her green eyes dancing with rage as the struggling pair paused within the relative privacy of the dense woodlands, "what were you thinking!"

Serge continued to stare dreamily over Imogen's shoulder, his eyes blank and slightly unfocused.

"Serge, are you even listening to me!" snapped Imogen, finally resorting to clicking her fingers in his face in an attempt to provoke a reaction, "Hello, is anyone in there?"

Serge sighed happily, "Isn't she wonderful…" he breathed, unable to take his eyes off the mysterious woman in black who had captivated his heart.

**And it was New York, New York**

**And she took his heart away oh my**

**And it was New York, New York**

**She had poisoned his sweet mind**

**Hmmm**

"Oh, you didn't…." breathed Imogen as she stared back in shocked realisation at the deluded man next to her.

"You utter bitch…" the tears were fast building in her green eyes now, the unfairness of the situation riling her beyond belief, the woman couldn't even bring herself to play fair, using her magical advantage over the "inferior" mortal who had dared to cross her once too often.

She gulped furiously before turning her blazing gaze to the victorious sorceress who was still seated upon her rock by the waterside, the smile of sweet vengeance now barely disguised upon the slender, dark lips of the triumphant enchantress who had bewitched her lover. Revenge was always sweet.

**The wolves they howled for my lost soul**

**I fell down a deep black hole**

**He left me for another lady**

Imogen stumbled away blindly into the welcoming dark depths of the forest, oblivious to the cries of concern and confusion from the assembled students who had witnessed her dramatic exit from the camp. She reached a secluded clearing and allowed her weakened knees to give way beneath her, sinking slowly onto the earthy floor, her balled fists pummelling the ground in a petulant display of anger and sorrow as if the sole support in her life had been pulled roughly from beneath her, leaving her free to tumble helplessly into the void of despair. What was the use of fighting that woman! The icy pillar of distain that the pupils held in silent revere as to how unflinchingly honest and democratic she was despite her authoritarian nature. The savage contrast between opinion and truth caused a bitter, hysterical laugh to erupt from within her- Constance? Fair? She would have treated a clod of dirt on the sole of her pristine black leather boots with more respect than she would Imogen.

**She poured the drinks and she poured the power**

**Diamond girl who could talk for hours**

**He left me for another lady**

"Nothing could have been simpler…" reflected Constance as she watched the retreating form of Imogen disappearing into the forest, remembering the ease with which she had been able to carry out her plan.

She had stormed out of the log cabin following the heated row, too tense with anger to even consider her usual method of dematerialisation, slamming the door in her desperate bid to escape before Imogen could see the tears of humiliation that were beginning to glisten upon her gaunt features, resolutely not to allowing a chink to be shown in her flawless façade of perfection, a faint breeze wafting gently over her blazing face like a cool hand to her fevered brow as she fought to regain her usually impeccable self-control. Imogen had certainly touched a nerve in her usually impenetrable armour with that untimely remark. Within moments the blind hysteria had turned from the raging fires of emotion and pain to a cold, icy logic, strategically picking apart the many exposed weaknesses of her enemy like a snake poised to strike as her damaged pride finally won the mighty struggle of power over her rigid morals, her bruised confidence throbbing angrily as the pain of Imogen's words became the smarting catalyst for her next course of action.

It had taken her nothing more than a short stroll in the moonlight to pick the herbs and roots needed for the potion, a brew which she had expertly concocted beneath the open moonlit skies, stirring the ingredients together carefully with practised ease before plucking a single long dark hair from her own head and adding it to the simmering creation at precisely the stroke of midnight when the volatile ingredients reached their highest intensity, smiling faintly as she watched the little trails of pink smoke rising from the glassy surface forming little misty hearts in the cold nocturnal air before dissipating in ghostly shadows into the overwhelming, inky blackness of the night.

A "frigid, loveless, bitter, straight-laced old maiden," was she? Just a few of the many livid derogates that hissed from between Imogen's lips in that heated exchange. She smirked wryly as she spiked the Ranger's bedtime cup of cocoa with the pale pink potion, her delicate porcelain hand hovering for a brief, unnoticeable moment over the abandoned cup; emptying the tiny glass vial containing the lethal, rosy contents that were set to create such havoc into the swirling brown liquid. Practically colourless, and completely odourless and tasteless, the concoction brewed by the master potioneer was virtually untraceable.

**Now I am on my own**

**He told me he was leaving**

**And I was pleading**

Imogen had no idea how long she had lain in a sprawled heap upon the damp forest floor, every way she turned, the image of Serge staring helplessly at Constance like a devoted slave was burnt into her eyeballs in vivid detail. Love had never come to her easily, relationships never lasted, withering away into blackened ruins over time, but it had felt different with Serge, a strong, loyal love that felt as natural as breathing. Both strong, independent beings with a real zest for life and adventure, they belonged together. Tears were falling unchecked from her green eyes as she lay face down on the rotting leaves, breathing in the choking, heavy scent of the compositing material. Numb from inside to out, unable to move beneath the weight of her anguish, she lay there, a broken shell, her delusional mind incoherently hoping that the falling leaves would eventually cover over her prone body, a red and gold tomb to encase her body when it ceased to be and joined her crushed soul in its deathlike state.

"Please," she choked, addressing the silence that embraced her, shivering as she felt the warm breath escape from her mouth into the cool night air, beseeching anything that would listen to her, animate or inanimate, "Don't take him away from me…"

**And I I I I I I I I**

**Had to let him go**

Constance sat at the flickering camp fire staring deeply into the dying orange embers, alone with her thoughts, rebuffing any attempt at familiarity from Serge, shuddering slightly as he shuffled closer to her rigid form. Try as she might, she could not see what Imogen saw in the man!

She was secretly concerned as to the whereabouts of the absent PE teacher having not seen her since she stormed away in tears a few hours ago, a nagging doubt clawing away at her prickling conscience which she attempted to brush away with a disdainful sweep of her bony hand. "Imogen had needed to be taught a lesson," she attempted to steel herself, attempting desperately to allow the well-practised icy façade to fall back into place as easily as a scenery change on a stage, the lowering of the safety curtain to her feelings, an impenetrable wall of logic and unerring patience that shielded her from the painful tangle caused by emotions such as love. "I only did what she deserved…" her willpower was weakening as her natural concern for others wellbeing won the battle over her iron self-control, the stabbing pains of worry interrupting the staged calm of disinterest.

She climbed wearily to her feet, for the first time cursing the fact that she had religiously worn her high-heeled boots camping as she fought to maintain her balance upon the loose soil and set off purposefully towards the dark shadows of the forest, following the trail of her fellow member of staff.

Suddenly, a twig broke behind her, the loud snap echoing like a gunshot in the still atmosphere causing her to wheel around sharply, her casting fingers extended, ready to attack the unforeseen foe, or at least provide a few angry words to admonish a student who had been caught out of bed. Instead, the chocolaty, dazed eyes of Serge Dubois stared back at her, adoration oozing from every pore of his being as he sank to his knees in the presence of the mighty woman. "Constance!" he began, raising his arms to shoulder level, "My darling Constance, allow me to serenade you beneath the starry skies, let me declare my love to the world!"

"It was like having a shadow that one could not get away from!", thought Constance as she let out an impatient tut and froze the worshipping man at her feet with an impatient twitch of her fingers, pulling her dainty ankle out of his clutching grasp, stilling the dreadful harmonies within his throat before they could punctuate the air and assault her precious eardrums. "Leave me alone!" she hissed in outrage, her pupils narrowing to slits of incensed rage, more in the knowledge that she had no one but herself to blame for the possessive infatuation and all the unwelcome attentions that came with it, before stalking off through the undergrowth, determined to find Imogen.

**And it was New York, New York (New York)**

**And she took his heart away oh my**

Imogen didn't know whether she was delirious or dreaming when a pair of cool hands closed upon her shoulders, easing her gently into a sitting position, wordlessly comforting her as she wiped her tears away, leaving grubby streaks of mud across her tanned features. Finally, she raised her green eyes to stare in disbelief at her unexpected visitor.

**And it was New York, New York (New York)**

**She had poisoned his sweet mind**

"You!" she spat furiously, wrenching her arm away from the witch, "Don't you dare touch me!"

"Imogen, I-" Constance attempted to speak, but was abruptly cut off by the incensed blonde.

**The greatest times**

**I don`t want to hear it**

"Come to gloat? Still not satisfied with rubbing my face in it!" she snarled, springing athletically to her feet, planting her hands defiantly upon her slim hips, "Determined to show how bloody inferior I am to the rest of you witches!" she sneered, the searing hurt unashamedly evident in her crimson-tinged eyes.

"No, but-" It must have been a record for Constance to be shouted down twice.

"Well," began Imogen as she turned her back on the other woman, "I don't want to know any more! I've had enough!", she went to push her way through the low-hanging foliage but found her way blocked by the other woman, who stood icily with her willowy arms folded tightly across her bony chest, wearing a look of disbelief and confusion that was usually reserved only for the likes of Mildred Hubble.

"Get out of my way…" she growled, the infuriating woman appearing at the entrance to every path, barring her way in all directions.

**Your new laughter lines**

**I don`t want to hear it**

"We need to talk, Imogen" Constance began steadily, watching the other woman warily as she seemed to take a calming breath and begin to listen.

The witch took a deep breath, deciding that there was only one course of action to follow in order to rescue the situation, before uttering a phrase that felt alien to her, two words which fought in confusion within her mind, "I-I'm s-sorry," she stammered awkwardly, feeling a pale, rosy flush of embarrassment spread across her porcelain features, a shocked internal response to the act of contrition that had just taken place. Imogen froze in her tracks. To say she was shocked would be a gross understatement.

"Constance Hardbroom!" she began, a wicked twinkle beginning to glisten within her dancing green eyes, "did you just say…"

The witch gritted her teeth as she attempted to carry on with her sentence, "I'm sorry!" she snapped briskly, "I acted in a way that betrays the moral code of a witch, allowing my own selfish pride to get in the way of my judgement, something that I feel greatly ashamed of, however antagonistic the comments that led to my hasty course of action…"

Imogen had the sense to look at her feet at that remark and mumble a faint contrition, knowing that she too was as much to blame for the consequences as Constance was, her own vicious tongue cutting unfairly into the woman in front of her in the heat of the blazing row.

"So, you decided to "teach me a lesson"," she finished for Constance, looking slyly up at the authority figure in front of her, "by leaving me as lonely and as unloved as I had accused you of being… by sabotaging my relationship with Serge…"

**The new found friends she introduced you to**

**I don`t wanna know them**

"Please Imogen!" said Constance indignantly, cutting across the now smirking woman, "This experience has been far from enjoyable! I assure you that the man is a prize Neanderthal with the emotional width of a needle point, and the intellectual levels of a severely academically challenged amoeba! I promise you that if you can see past that impenetrably irksome layer of damning qualities, then you are wholeheartedly welcome to the wretched creature!"

**I just want to be with you**

**Please don`t make me go to**

Imogen smiled softly at the thought as the two women began their walk back to camp, Neanderthal or not, she thought, Serge was definitely the one for her, however, the unexpected sight that confronted her as they rounded the corner made her stop dead in her tracks.

"Constance!" she shrieked in disbelief, turning to see the majestic sorceress who was barely keeping a straight face at the sight that confronted them, a quiet chuckle escaping from behind her hand that was clamped tightly across her mouth, her shoulders quaking with silent mirth at the ridiculous sight in front of her, knowing that the last laugh was on Imogen.

"What did you do?"

**New York, New York**

**And she took your heart away oh my**

**And it was New York, New York**

**She poisoned your sweet mind**

**She poisoned your sweet mind**

The frozen facsimile of Serge Dubois knelt in the middle of the path, lit perfectly by a spotlight of moonlight that shone directly through the dense woodlands, highlighting the red rose clasped firmly between his gleaming, white teeth, his arms thrown back in an expression of submissive adoration as he stared helplessly up at the stars, blinded by love as he silently serenaded the night.


End file.
